


dance in my garden like we used to

by placentalmammal



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Aftercare, Begging, Consentacles, Dreams, Dreamsharing, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Plants, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Sex Pollen, Suspension, Threesome - F/M/M, mild body horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 13:45:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17101709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/placentalmammal/pseuds/placentalmammal
Summary: In a shared dream, Rosana and Alyosha welcome Hadrian home.





	dance in my garden like we used to

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mercutioes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercutioes/gifts).



> 'Mild Body Horror' for Alyosha having plants growing out of him. I have no idea if that's canon and I don't care.
> 
> [Title from here!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5akYnlwubDo)

Hadrian almost doesn’t recognize the Forge. In the years he was away, the place has  _ bloomed:  _ fragrant herbs underfoot, vines trailing from the walls. The plant life forms a living tapestry, glossy leaves and fist-sized blooms, fat flowers in every shade of pink and red. The workshop has become a greenhouse, swords beaten into plowshares.

Alyosha and Rosana are there, and he recognizes them immediately. Rosana, so much happier in the dream than in the waking world, round-cheeked and radiant, smiling like she hasn’t since he returned. Alyosha, gaunt and strange, but still handsome, still himself. Like Samothes before him, he is bare-chested, although he wears a cloak of living vines. It suits him, Hadrian thinks, as he’s swept up in the other man’s crushing embrace. It is just so  _ good  _ to see him again, after so long.

They don’t waste time with words. Alyosha kisses him, and Rosana slots in behind him, her arms around his waist. She kisses his shoulders, his neck while Alyosha slides cool hands, tinged green with chlorophyll, underneath his clothes. He catches Hadrian’s nipples between his thumbs and pointer fingers and Hadrian, already halfway hard, keens.

“I missed you,” he manages, between gasps, “Alyosha, it’s been too long, I’ve missed you, I’ve--”

“Hush,” Alyosha whispers. “Relax, darling.” As he runs fingers along Hadrian’s chest and down his belly, the hard buds on his cloak begin to bloom. Hadrian realizes that the vines are growing  _ out  _ of him, and then he’s too distracted by the blooming flowers to think of much else. The alien flowers unfurl like peonies, velvet petals opening up to reveal pistil and stamens dripping with nectar. The scent of it hangs heavily in the air, and Hadrian goes weak in the knees, slumping back against Rosana for support.

She laughs, breathy in his ear. He can feel her arousal through her skirts, and he pushes back against it, his thoughts hazy. “Sweet man,” she says, stroking over his chest. “Alyosha, you’re having quite the effect on him.”

The former exarch chuckles softly. “Not quite as much of an effect as I had on you, my dear, the first time I bloomed for you.”

Rosana hums, thoughtful, even as her hands skim over Hadrian’s chest, opening his shirt to bare his chest to Alyosha’s appreciative gaze. “Perhaps,” she says, “but we’ve only just begun, and there’s still  _ so  _ much to show him.” One of her hands comes up to grip his chin, tipping his head to the side so she can kiss him properly. He groans against her mouth as Alyosha’s fingers skim over his chest, catching at his nipples. Hadrian can smell  _ him,  _ the buds in his hair and on his living cloak, and he can’t  _ think,  _ he needs desperately to touch and be touched and to drink from Alyosha, sweet like honeysuckle, to touch Alyosha, to please him,  _ anything  _ for Alyosha--

He must have been speaking aloud, because the other man laughs softly. “Anything, dear?” he says, not unkindly. “What if I’d like to tie you up, would you like that?”

Hadrian can barely not, he wants it so badly. The scent of Alyosha’s flowers have reawakened his libido, set aside during those long, hard years of winter. He hasn’t fucked in years and he’s desperate for it now, desperate for his wife and boyfriend. He can be good for them, as long as they keep touching him so sweetly.

Vines come forward from somewhere, looping around his wrists and trailing over his chest like fingers. Hadrian isn’t sure whether they’re part of Alyosha, or whether the vines want the same thing that he does. No matter, as he’s hoisted into the air, vines slipping into his clothes, supporting his bulk even as they nudge his legs apart.

Smiling, Rosana comes to stand beside Alyosha, her arms around him. “He looks lovely like that,” she murmurs, her lips on his throat, “just as you said he would.”

“Your husband is a beautiful man,” says Alyosha, and his praise makes Hadrian’s face heat. “Shall I undress him, my love, so we can see just how lovely he is?”

She nods, and Alyosha flicks his wrist. The vines do his bidding, finding all the ties and fasteners holding Hadrian’s clothes in place. Not a minute, and he’s bare before them, chest heaving, cock hanging heavy between his legs. He’s hard, aching for the both of them, and he whimpers and struggles futilely against the vines. He hangs suspended, powerless but safe, nestled in the Alyosha’s botanical embrace.

He realizes, after a moment, that the vines holding him there are the same as the ones sprouting from Alyosha’s back, and their buds are just beginning to open.

Hadrian groans, falling limp in his restraints, and Alyosha and Rosana laugh again. They touch him gently, fleetingly, running fingers across old scars and stretchmarks, relearning the planes and contours of his body. There’s Alyosha’s cool hand on his belly, Rosana’s fingers on his throat. They tease, not allowing him any satisfaction as he moans and writhes, held in place with his arms suspended above his head and the intoxicating flowers blooming bright on his chest. His lovers croon and coo and call him beautiful, and he  _ is,  _ he loves it.

Before long, he’s begging for relief. His untouched cock throbs and his nipples are stiff red peaks, aching from their abuse. They’ve kissed and caressed and bitten, exploring him with cool fingertips and warm tongues, marking his flesh to remind him that he is  _ theirs.  _ He’s bood good for them, as good as he can be, but he can’t wait any longer, he needs to be fucked and filled. He’s drunk off Alyosha’s nectar, skin tingling where they’ve dipped their fingers into the dripping buds to smear the pollen across his body.

“Please,” he rasps, his voice hoarse from begging, “please, please--”

“Please  _ what,  _ darling?” says Alyosha.

“Use your words,” says Rosana.

“Fuck me! Please, just fuck me, I need it, please,  _ please _ !”

Alyosha obliges, in a sense. Another gesture, and the vines press at his entrance, smearing more of the nectar along his perineum. It’s effective as a lubricant, easing him open so the vines can slip inside him, stretching him open. He cries out in pleasure, trying to arch back into the touch but he  _ can’t,  _ there’s no leverage, nothing for him to push back against. He can only hang there, waiting on Alyosha’s pleasure.

“So good,” Rosana murmurs, fingers skating along his jaw. “Do you want more, darling?”

He can only nod.

Another vine slips into his ass, a second into his open mouth. A third wraps around the base of his cock and he sobs, pressure building in his gut. He’s dimly aware of Alyosha and Rosana, attention turned from him to one another, fucking on the floor. The noises he’s hearing aren’t entirely his own, he knows that, but it’s hard to think while the vines twist inside him, opening him up wide enough to admit another.

When he comes, he comes hard enough to paint himself with semen. It spatters over his chest and drips down onto his belly to commingle with the streaks of pollen. Very gently, the vines let him down, lowering him into Rosana’s embrace. She lies on the floor in a carpet of flowers, half-dressed and dozing. Alyosha is beside her, and together they kiss and caress him, rubbing their fingers over the marks left by the vines.

“You did so well,” Rosana murmurs, “how do you feel, darling?”

“Good.” His mind is hazy, he can’t manage much more than that.

“You came so prettily,” says Alyosha. “You’re a treasure.”

Hadrian’s face heats and he hides his head in Rosana’s chest, fingers curling in the neckline of her dress. Alyosha laughs and strokes his back, attentive and sweet. “Let us take care of you, Hadrian. We’ve missed you tremendously.”

Hadrian has no words to respond. He has always been a plainspoken man, has never had a tremendous faculty with words. But even if he were a poet, he doesn’t think he could express the emotion rising in his throat. Fondness, love, gladness. Sorrow at having been apart, relief at having been reunited, gratitude for their care and attention, eagerness to return the favor.

“I’m home,” he manages, and maybe it’s as simple as that.  _ Home. _


End file.
